


Unbidden love tore it down

by Frehior



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Break Up, Emotional Hurt, Implied Sexual Content, Lack of Communication, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Secret Relationship, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25421446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frehior/pseuds/Frehior
Summary: This time, Thomas wasn’t going to back down. He’d stand up for himself and his emotions. An ultimatum. This time, he’d keep his cool and face what he dreaded. Or so he had told himself, too afraid to lose what has been stablished. Even if the difference lays visible as the day and night, he struggles to settle with what he has or what he desires."Would it be easier for you if I broke things between us, Thomas?”
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Unbidden love tore it down

**Author's Note:**

> Heyooo, after several months, I finally managed to come up with an appropriate way of ending this work! It's completely different to how I had first envisioned/planned, but ultimately I think it fits better with both character's motives and perspectives in mind. [ Inspired by ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wFDyYX9_Fw4).
> 
> **WARNING:** this might be seen as manipulative and abusive from one side, but I want to clarify that that isn't what I aimed for, much as it might seem so. In the end notes I'll clarify more, if you wish to read before-hand what topics might be touched!

Thomas dreads the upcoming talk. It’s not necessary to have, but he can’t keep this up. Has been hurt enough times by the small actions that are a clear rejection of the love he feels and tries to express. His breathing becomes shallow, the fear gripping at his chest making it difficult for him to get the necessary air he so much needs.

His hands grip at the covers as he closes his eyes, trying to calm his nerves, his panic. No matter how many times he has rehearsed it before his closet mirror — _the bags under his eyes too noticeable and giving away the fact that he was losing sleep over this_ —, he can’t do it. He has repeated what he has to say multiple times on his head, his mind coming up with different variations, possible scenarios arising only more words. He can’t do it. There was so much he could say, and so many ways to address this.

Yet every attempt turned up for naught, his words paralyzed at the fear of losing _him._ It was stupid, and he shouldn’t feel that way. They weren’t anything formal. This had started as nothing more than a carnal need to satisfy each other. And still, Thomas can’t help but touch Alexander’s body with certain adoration, look at him as if he could provide him all the answers. As if he could solve all his problems.

And the bitter reality is that Alexander can do everything but the things Thomas most needs him to. And it isn't particularly the young man’s fault. Thomas has never spoken aloud his needs, rarely has the courage to ask from him anything more than what is given. He tries to obtain them, yes, but it is more common to end empty-handed than not. He’s never demanded them.

When the bed dips with the additional weight of his night accomplice, Thomas tells himself that he shouldn’t dally anymore. The soft touch against his cheek has him thinking things twice, and the touch turns into a caress as the hand moves down his neck, trails over his shoulder and follows the length of his arm.

“Are you asleep?” Alexander asks. And it’s such a soft and sweet tone that Thomas believes that maybe, just maybe, Alexander does care for him.

Of course he does. The nights which they share prove him that. They’re enough evidence of how Alexander can be a sweet person, one that cared enough to ask if anything he did didn’t feel right to Thomas. A person that even encouraged him to loosen his restrains.

' _I’m not going to break_ ’, Alexander uses to say, whenever Thomas is being too delicate with his motions, when he hesitates about his every action and wonders what’s okay and not okay to do, ‘ _I really like you, Thomas_ ’, he assures him. And Thomas likes him too. How can he not when Alexander shows such an attentive side?

How dares Thomas even question his intentions? His actions spoke volumes. Of course Alexander Hamilton cares for him.

He has to mentally kick himself to force his voice to cooperate, and he eventually replies in a hoarse whisper, “ _I was waiting for you to come back._ ” He was waiting for him, but not just because. There was a purpose. There are words that need to be spoken.

But tonight? Tonight he is a coward. He is the biggest coward to ever be, he tells himself. Because actions spoke louder than words. yet he had neither to offer. And he remains silent as Hamilton presses a small kiss against his forehead, doesn’t speak when his partner wishes him good night.

He just allows everything to flow as it normally does. As it always does. And even when his mind screams at him that what he’s doing _is wrong_ , he wills himself to relax in the comfort he has, and allows himself to enjoy the warmth of Alexander’s body against his. He silently prays he can enjoy more nights like this, and hopes that, when his resolution hardens and he has enough courage to address the situation, he can enjoy more.

* * *

“I brought you coffee,” Thomas announces as he enters Alexander’s office, and decides to ignore the painful pang on his chest as Alexander frowns at him, “Since it’s pretty late, and it seems you’ll be staying after hours.”

“Thank you.”

By now, Thomas is an expert when it comes to acting unaffected by the curt tone. He’s used to Alexander keeping their relationship at work as nothing more than that. Just two mere acquaintances that some times shared good moments but mostly disagreed on how things should be done. It doesn't make it any more easier to accept the cold treatment, though. Leaving the cup of coffee next to Alex’s laptop and away from the pile of papers, he rounds the desk, coming at a stop behind the man’s chair, his arms resting on the back of it as he leans forward, eyes roaming the papers that are scattered around and the words on the laptop’s screen.

“Revisiting old works, I assume?” He inquires, and Alexander hums in response, his hand reaching for the coffee and taking a long gulp of it.

“Yeah, sure. I just need to find one letter, because apparently I missed it and now my whole document has a hole in it due to my mistake.”

Thomas reaches out to pick some letters. “Perhaps I could offer my—“ his hand is swatted away with just enough force for the hit to be felt, and even if it doesn’t hurt he flinches at the rough action, steps back to get some distance.

“Please don’t bother me, Jefferson. Just leave me to it, I’ll figure it out soon enough on my own.”

The smile he puts on feels fake and forced, but nevertheless Thomas lets it be. “Oh, okay,” he says, and is grateful that his voice doesn’t quiver, “I’ll leave you, then?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then, see you tomorrow, Alexander.” He leans in to kiss him goodbye, but Alexander’s face is jerked away.

“Thomas, please. We are at work.” He chides him, and Thomas feels a pit in his stomach, bitterness clawing at his throat as he nods silently.

He manages a small whisper, “Sorry."

And then he’s gone, all his self control gathered so he can leave the office as if he’s okay. As if Alexander’s cold treatment doesn’t bother him. But maybe it had been his fault. He knows how Hamilton doesn’t like any help with his work, how he likes to keep himself as independent as possible, and Thomas knows is hard for him to accept someone’s help. Thomas should know better than that.

* * *

Thomas’ hand finds that of Alexander, and for a moment, he thinks that finally, finally he can have what he has desired for so long when Alexander doesn’t snatch his hand away as he usually does, as if Thomas' touch burned.

That thought is taken away when he turns to look at Alexander, and he’s met with an icy glare. Thomas harrumphs, and takes back his hand, apologizing in a small whisper.

Actions spoke louder than words. And the stark contrast between Alexander’s actions at day and night left him in a difficult spot. It should be obvious. How Alexander seems to reject every attempt he tries at being affectionate. How the smaller man would show his dislike at those attempts, would often brush them away rudely. But Thomas can’t help but keep himself hopeful at the thought of what would come at night. Of the soft caresses, the loving murmurs, the synchronized pants and moans, and the way they each would express the desire for the other.

_It’s all physical_ , he tries to reason with himself. He tries hard, but he just keeps thinking that there’s no way Alexander can show himself so caring when all that Thomas is to him is a physical satisfaction. There has to be some emotion there, buried behind the touches, the words.

Yet each action of Alexander when the sun is up only tears deep gashes on Thomas’ chest. But that’s fine, Thomas tells to himself. Because when the sun goes down, all those gashes are carefully healed by Alexander’s actions. And perhaps the night’s loving touches would carry to next morning.

* * *

His throat clamps up with the heavy emotions that he’s feeling. And he tries to tell himself that it’s okay. That they will talk things out and things will fall into place as they should. He can’t back down. He _needs_ to address the matter at hand.

“Alexander, can we talk?” He asks, and the aforementioned man stops at the side of the bed, nods his head and takes seat next to Thomas.

“Sure, anything for you, love.” Alexander replies, an easy smile showing on his face.

There’s a painful ache on his chest, sharp enough to cut through his messy thoughts. He regains some clarity as his breathing quickens.

‘ _You can’t be calling me like that_ ’, he thinks bitterly, as his anger flares and licks around his chest, twisting his insides with certain envy. How can he act like everything is fine, when Thomas is clearly struggling to keep this up?

“I…” His throat closes around the following words, and Alexander places a hand on his knee, soothingly rubbing it. The action has Thomas’ thoughts become hazy with anger. _He has no right to_. Biting down on his tongue, he forces his words out, “I want us to speak about us.” He says, and clarifies for good measure, “Of what we are outside of the bedroom.”

Alexander frowns at him, and he removes his hand from Thomas’ knee, eyes hardening at the words spoken. It takes Thomas a lot of effort to not go back on his words.

“What do you think we are, Thomas?” Hamilton questions, an amused tone to it. “We are acquaintances, co-workers. Two people who share some intimacy at times.”

It hurts. It hurts to hear him express his view on them like that. As if they were a nothing with a little bit of something.

“But… Here, at night. We are more than that, Alexander.” Thomas says, desperate for Alexander to back him up and say that its not only at night where that status is used. That when the sun comes up, they could and should keep what they are at night— that they should be more affectionate with each other, that it’d mean the world to Alex if Thomas held his hand every now and then, if he pressed a kiss to his lips whenever he wanted to. Thomas knows that’s just wishful thinking, and it kills him to know that perhaps that won’t be Alexander’s stance on this.

“We are, yes. But that’s the thing, Thomas. It’s when we have privacy, and there are no spectators to what we share. Don’t you see? It’s something precious we both share.”

Thomas’ eyes burn with the tears he holds. And that was a big problem. Because Thomas didn’t want this to be something only they could be witnesses to. He wanted to share it to the world, let everyone know how much he loved Alexander Hamilton. He wanted to be able to do that without the fear of Alexander rejecting his shows of affection.

“I love you.” Thomas whispers, and Alexander’s brows knit together in confusion and concern. “I love you, Alexander.” Thomas whispers once more, hoping Alexander would return the sentiment. Would spoke those words to him.

Instead, Alex shakes his head and sighs heavily. “Thomas, please. We spoke about this when this all began—“

“I _know_!” He bellows, tears finally spilling down his cheeks, too heavy and hot to keep at bay. “But that was back then! What’s wrong with showing the affection we have for each other?!”

Alexander’s eyes flash with anger, and the man bites down on his lower lip, his nostrils flaring. “You don’t get it.” He says harshly.

“Then make me get it! Why is it hard for you to accept what I feel for you?”

Opening his mouth to respond, Hamilton seems to hesitate on the words chosen, and he makes more attempts at starting his point, before groaning in annoyance, “What is hard for _me_ is to understand why do you want to display your affection so much!”

“Because I love you, Alexander!”

“No. No.” His hand treads over his hair, pushing back some stray bangs covering his face. “We had a deal, Thomas!” He says, and shakes his head furiously. “This—“ his index points at them both, a blur in the hasty movement, “— _this_ stays and happens only in the bedroom.”

“ _Why?!_ ”

“Because we agreed to!”

“Well I no longer agree to it!”

Something seems to snap inside Hamilton’s head, and Thomas has the hope that maybe here’s where the man will understand how much wrong has he done to Thomas, how much has he hurt him every time he refused his attention at work or any other place that wasn’t the bedroom.

He’s wrong.

“Then fucking leave my apartment.” Alexander hisses angrily, and Thomas falls prey to his panic.

“No—“ he starts, attempts to make things right, to make Alexander see that perhaps they can get to another deal, find middle ground.

“Leave!” Alexander hollers, and stands from the bed, going to the bedroom door in long strides to open it for Thomas, “You know the way, I’m sure.”

This is what Thomas had feared. He didn’t want to lose Alexander. Didn’t want to lose this they shared. Because at least, for now, he could have Alexander on certain nights. But if he left, then he wouldn’t. And he was terrified of losing him now that he had pretty much become a part of his life.

“Alexander, please, I beg you—“

“No, Thomas. We had made it clear. You agreed to it. If you don’t anymore, then that’s okay. You can leave.”

“No, I—“ He fumbles for words, stands from the bed and steps closer to Alexander, “—I’m okay as we are now. I swear! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I apologize for— fuck, no, listen.” He rushes to Alexander’s side, picks up his hand between his own, silently begs that the cold gaze he’s getting turns softer. As it usually is on these nights. “I’m sorry. Sorry, I don’t know what overcame me. Please, don’t make me leave you, please.”

It’s pitiful, he knows. But he can’t help but beg and ask for forgiveness. He just doesn’t imagine himself without Alexander. Can’t help but feel like he _needs him_ to live his life. It shouldn’t be like that, he knows, and it’s something that makes him despise himself. He should be better than this. Can do better than this. But at the moment, he can’t fight the panic that’s clawing at his skin, the way his brain screams at him to fix this mistake, to make things right again so he can share the warmth of Alexander’s body in bed.

“Jefferson, I’m asking nicely.”

_Jefferson_. Alexander never called him that when they were together like this. He never spoke to him so distantly. Alexander was caring, and loving, and never attempted to put distance between them by addressing him in a formal way.

“Please, please.” He begs, kneeling down and holding desperately to Alex’s hand. “I’ll try to be more understanding. I’m sorry I didn’t think of how you felt about this. I’m sorry I asked for more. It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with it. I’m more than happy with what we share now.”

Hamilton’s eyes seem to soften, and Thomas allows himself a smile at that. Feels himself be flooded by relief when Alexander closes the door and tugs his hand, his head nodding towards the bed.

* * *

Thomas is beyond ashamed of himself after his last stunt at Hamilton’s apartment, and thus has decided that he needs some space. It’s perhaps a bit cowardly from his part, seeing how he’s doing whatever he can to keep himself away from Alexander. He doesn’t know how can he face him, not after humiliating himself like that. Did Alexander think less of him now? Did he felt repulsed by Thomas’ pitiful behavior? Thomas certainly does.

Of course, all things come to an end, and with their actual jobs, there was only so much they could do before having to inevitable share a room and exchange words. And it was okay, because Thomas knew the tune to that dance, knew what he had to do and how to speak and move. The interaction at work had barely changed with their relationship, so it was easy for him to fall back into routine.

Still, it came as an unexpected blow when Thomas’ skin ached to get near Alexander, touch him, speak to him as if he was the dearest person to him. As if he were the only who could provide him with security. It was like a revelation. It sickened him to see himself so dependent of the man who wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings, it sickened him that he had yet to get enough courage to detach himself from such toxic relation—

It wasn’t toxic. Not really. Alexander didn’t treat him bad. But for Thomas? For Thomas it was. For Thomas, every second spend in whatever non-existent relationship they shared was an inch he was nearing the brink of losing himself. And he couldn’t even blame Hamilton for it. Perhaps the man didn’t _oppose_ whatever was happening, but it wasn’t like he knew how deeply rooted Thomas’ emotions ran for him. The last outburst had been but a mistake. And whatever affection Thomas showed him in bed, Alexander did in return. It wasn’t like he was going out of his way to make it clear he desired more. Had made it clear from the beginning that he liked physical contact, liked to get clingy. He supposed Alexander wiped all Thomas’ attempts at getting closer outside the bedroom under those initial claims he had made.

And sure, he was a clingy or physical person, even in the night-one stands he has had. But now it was clear that there was more to his typical actions. There were _emotions_. Feelings that shouldn’t exist because it’d only backfire on Thomas, and put a strain in the already fragile relationship he had with Alexander. And after the last shared night they had, Thomas knew he had to draw a clear line that he shouldn’t overstep if he still wanted to have whatever he had.

It was all a mess, truly. Because Thomas wasn’t even sure what he wanted. He wanted more, yes, but he also wanted out of this, since he knew sooner or later it would happen, whether he wanted it or not. Alexander had been clear: he didn’t want an emotional relationship. Thomas was only putting himself for needless suffering.

And he didn't know what to do.

* * *

Thomas has had his share of rough sex. He has, really, but to have angry or hate sex? He doesn’t think he’s ever done that— until, well, maybe now. So once he’s come down from his high he is left with a cold and heavy sensation on his chest, Alexander’s labored breath ringing too loud in his ears. He feels his skin crawl as he recalls their recent activities. His skin stung where teeth and nails had come to the mix, and he can only guess Alexander is no better, having received the same rough treatment he gave.

He wants to berate himself, because obviously giving themselves some space had only aroused something bitter inside Thomas, and Alexander seemed to have no trouble responding to his aggression with as much of his own, making Thomas think he himself had some bitterness growing from their last encounter.

Rarely would they go as hard as this time. Rough? Sure. But it was after asking proper questions and placing limits. Tonight it had been a downhill walk, starting from a bruising kiss and rough hair pulling, eventually spiraling to the point Thomas was moving in and out of Alexander in a way that showed little care, and Alexander's blunt nails raking down his back and leaving a throbbing ache behind reflected the same.

As his gaze moves to Alexander's flustered face, he comes to the decision that this can't no longer go on. He has to put and end to it. He has to. He can no longer cling to Alexander as if he were his reason to live. As much as he is, in a sense, a good percentage of it, it has to stop.

"Alexander." He calls out, surprisingly softly, as his hand wanders down the bedsheets, grabbing Alexander's hand.

He can't stop the fear that seizes him. Alexander's hand, squeezing his own with what appears to be a reassuring touch, feels like it has gripped onto his fear, unwilling to let it go as much as Thomas tries to calm down his pained hearbeats.

_This time..._ Thomas thinks, closing his eyes for a brief moment, hoping that seconds are all he needs. All he needs to clamp up his emotions, to brush aside anything that does not centers around himself.

"Would it be easier for you if I broke things between us, Thomas?"

The question pierces through all the courage Thomas had built, and he looks wide-eyed at Alexander. His mouth opens as no word leaves him. Why did he have to ask that? Was Alexander planing to—

"... I—" he tries, but the emotions that are washing over him are too loud, too much, and he finds himself drowning in them. He feels his heart be washed away by the turmoil inside of him. "Don't know..." He pushes out between clenched teeth.

"I will do it, if you want me to.” Alexander says softly, as if his words were directed to a fragile object that would break with the minimum roughness thrown its way. Thomas doesn’t know if he’s sturdy enough to receive the blow.

Thomas feels that desperation he hates so much crawl under his skin, coiling around his beating heart and reaching his ears. _Say no,_ the desperation whispers, _tell him we can keep this up._

And the worst might be that they can keep this up, but to what point? Thomas doesn't want to anymore, in spite of his desire for it. And here he is, Alexander offering a way out. Acting in such a caring manner that has Thomas thinking, wishing, believing that there could be more to them, that things could work if only Alexander—

But Alexander would never, and that was the thing to it. He wouldn't allow for something else to bloom, no matter how hard Thomas tried to make it happen.

He feels the tears burn his eyes, and he blinks, tries to ignore the sting on his cheek, ablaze only where the tear had intersected with a scratch. With quivering breath, he tries to say no. Tries to say that there is no way that he can let Alexander go, can’t finish things just like this.

The only thing that comes out of him is a shaky breath and what he can only describe as a small whimper.

“Thomas…?”

He wants to yell, lash out and scream at Alexander how it’s not fair that he keeps addressing him with such softness, with such love— with such something that Thomas is not sure anymore what it is, too aware it’s certainly not love.

“Let me think about it.” He finally says, words too sharp for his throat, hurting as they are spoken out load.

Alexander gives a light squeeze to his hand, “Okay.” He says.

* * *

“Hey.” Alexander calls out to him as Thomas is getting ready to leave work. His heart skips a beat but he refuses to show anything for it.

“Hey.” He acknowledges him, his small pause broken as he keeps putting his belongings into his bag.

“I heard you were taking a vacation.” Thomas simply nods, and swallows the urge to look up at Alexander and give him his undivided attention. It’s been hard to keep his emotions in line, but he’s gotten better at it. “France, huh?” Hamilton tries again, and Thomas’ bag clicks as he buttons it close.

“Yeah. Just to clear my head, take a step back.” He replies, eyes finally meeting Alexander’s. It hurts to see them filled with worry and a certain softness, but nonetheless Thomas grasps as the love he holds for himself, at the rational part of him that’s telling him that he’s done so well so far, and there’s no need to dwell on the past. “I hope you don’t drive Washington crazy in my absence.”

Hamilton laughs at the quip, and he shakes his head. “Only did so because you riled me up every time.”

Thomas huffs his amusement as he lets the strap of his bag over his head, letting the weight that settles on his shoulder ground him in reality. It’d be nice if they could start a friendship once he returns from France, but he knows that right now, that’s the least he should be thinking about, not when his emotions are still too raw and fresh, when the memory of Alexander’s body and affection in bed is still so vivid in his mind. He starts to walk to engage his mind in something else.

“Now, don’t blame it on me, Hamilton. You aren't an angel yourself.” Thomas takes hold of the strap, grip tightening. He swallows the nervousness as he passes by Hamilton, who turns to follow him. It feels so unnatural to have him act nice when they are still at work, no matter that night has already fallen and most have gone home by now.

“I know.” Hamilton says, and when Thomas glances at him, he sees a small smile on his lips. He blinks and looks forward to avoid any lingering thoughts.

Knowing his thoughts are becoming too muddy and unclear, he speaks up again, “So, why come bid me farewell?”

When Alexander looks at him, surprised by the more mellow tone, he can see the conflict going inside Thomas, too knowledgable of his small behaviors. Alexander knows too well the clench and unclench of the grasp he keeps on his bag strap, the small frown on his features, the way he blinks more than necessary. And for all that Thomas wishes Alexander couldn’t read him like an open book, he is grateful for the hints he recognizes in him.

“I just wanted to check on you. I—” He pauses for a second, before turning his face away from Thomas. “I know that what happened between us… was rough and still is. But I wanted to apologize. For dragging it as long as I did. I knew, or suspected, where you stood. But I never actively tried to confirm it or stop it. I’m sorry, Tho— Jefferson. And I… um, well, I wish you well on your trip.”

Thomas feels the burn of the tears he’d promised himself he’d no longer spill over Hamilton, but he bites his lips and thinks that _it’s fine_ , that he can handle himself, can handle the love that he still has for Alexander, can handle telling him goodbye for a second time. But it’s the sincerity in the man’s tone that has him shaken, and he can’t help but let go of the resentment he feels at the moment, because it’s not either party’s fault that they hand’t discussed things as they came, instead bottling everything up to enjoy what they once had.

Hoping the younger man can understand how thankful he is to him in more than one way, he responds, “Thanks. Thank you, Alexander."

**Author's Note:**

> If you come from the beginning's notes: The manipulation and abuse might come from Alexander, as he seems to ignore all the signals Thomas gives that he's too emotionally attached (to an unhealthy degree) in their relationship when Alexander himself is not, instead opting to drag what they have forward, regardless of how this hurts Thomas. Thomas blames himself for Alexander's outburst when he "does something wrong". This is obviously not how a healthy relationship should work, though they (at least in the beginning) are no more than acquaintances with benefits.
> 
> I might write this from Alexander's perspective, to give a more in-depth look as to why he acts like he does (and also delve into what their deal was in the beginning), but then again, don't hold me to that ✌︎('ω')✌︎.
> 
> Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this work! Certainly interesting to explore a logic-emotions conflict mixed with unrequited love. Thanks for reading :).


End file.
